Fraternizing With The Enemy
by Exes and Ohs. 2
Summary: PostWar. No DH spoilers.  HPDM slash.  Harry's magic is gone.  His world is falling apart, and even worse is that the one person he despised witnesses it all.  He doesn't want help, but finds himself craving Malfoy's attention.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Warnings:

This is, I guess now, considered an AU slash fic. It takes place post-war, and doesn't follow DH much at all. There will be some similarities, but there will be no Deathly Hallows.

Some characters in this story have been revived. I don't want to have emails saying "that's not canon, so and so is dead" or whatever. That's why it's now an AU fic.

This is a HP/DM slash. If you don't like it, don't read it )

It's been a very long time since I've written anything, so forgive me. No, I won't be updating my old stories. I've given up on those long ago, so don't ask.

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His knees were aching, and he could feel wetness dripping down the back of his neck. Hands were on his shoulders, and he knew someone was talking to him. Buzzing in his ears didn't allow the words to make sense. Fingers pushed his chin up, and he strained to focus his eyes. It was too dark in the room to make out who it was, but he could see fast lips forming words that he'd yet to understand. He didn't even remember what was happening.

Trying to move his arm, he realized, painfully, that his arms were tied to something behind him. One hurt sharply, the other was asleep, from being in one position too long. He was in a kneeling position - that explained the pain in his knees.

The man dropped his chin to his chest. He couldn't keep his eyes open. He was exhausted, but the buzzing in his ears, the wetness on his body, and the person kneeling in front of him refused to let him drop into a fitful sleep.

Fingers on his face again pushed his chin back up. He didn't open his eyes this time. The hands were very cool against his hot face. There were no coherant thoughts. He didn't know where he was, couldn't remember what happened, and frankly didn't care. The burning pain throughout his body protested the slightest bit of movement as his chest rose and fell with each strained breath.

Through the buzzing he heard, "will die", and he managed a small, triumphant grin. Death was better than suffering through this pain much longer.

The fingers pushed his hair off his forehead.

Suddenly, his arms were released from their hold and fell to his sides, and he howled. A hand pressed over his mouth quickly, stifling the sounds. He still didn't open his eyes, but collapsed onto his side. His legs began burning, blood rushing back to his calves and feet.

Someone grabbed his right arm, and he let out a sudden scream. Hands were pressed over his mouth again, and he heard, "bloody arm shattered".

Without warning, someone picked him up, none too gently. Searing, sharp pain screamed out of every part of his body. He could feel new wetness dripping down his back and sides. Was he bleeding, he wondered vaguely. His body was on fire. The person holding him readjusted their grip on him, holding him tighter, making the pain worse.

Not able to take the pain any longer, Harry Potter passed out.

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It was quite some time before Harry Potter's eyelids flew open. He made his hands into fists, breathing hard, trying to sit up. Only, he couldn't. His vision was blurry - his glasses weren't on - so he couldn't see what held him down, but he assumed it was either a spell, or straps. Like he was crazy.

His mind raced. Where was he? What happened? How did he get to..wherever it was that he got to?

Images flashed through his mind for a moment. _Sectumsempra_. Being healed, but apparently only enough to not kill him. That sneering, gleeful look in the eyes of -

"Good, you're up," said a voice, a very familiar voice, coming from his right side.

His body was free, and Harry's hands flew to his face, feeling for gashes and scabs. There was nothing out of place however. Something fell onto his thighs, and he reached for it, finding, happily, his glasses. He looked up at the direction the voice came from as he put on his glasses, and his breath caught in his throat.

Remus Lupin smiled tightly down at him. "How are you feeling?"

"I..I.." Harry stuttered, unable to know for sure how he was feeling. Sore, sure. But there was something missing from him; a piece had been stolen, taken away.

Sitting on the bed beside Harry, Lupin brushed his hand over his forehead momentarily, his hand slightly shaking.

"Where am I?" Harry managed to blurt out, flinching away from Lupin. He sat upright, looking around the room. He was in a bed, a large bed, with black bedding. There was what appeared to be a large window, with heavy black drapes blocking out the light.

"You are at a member of the Order's house, Harry. You barely made it out alive. What in the world were you thinking, going there alone?" Lupin's voice shook with emotion. Harry couldn't help but pick up on the dodgy answer, but chose to ignore it. It didn't matter.

"I'm fine now," he said, moving to the side of the bed and lowering his feet to the floor. "I don't know how you found me, but -"

"But nothing! You aren't going anywhere, not now!" Lupin stood up, stalking around the bed to push Harry gently on his shoulder, trying to sit him back down on the bed. "You almost died Harry!"

"Bah," Harry scoffed, glaring up at Lupin from the bed. "What does it matter if I almost died? I would've gotten out of there myself, you know," he said defiantly.

Lupin laughed bitterly. Harry lowered his eyes, noticing tears in the old werewolf's eyes.

"Don't fool yourself for a second, Harry," Lupin said quietly, his voice steady. "If you died because you blindly run into Death Eater's homes -"

"Ex Death Eaters, " Harry corrected. "I have every right to go into their homes. It's my job, Remus, whether you want to admit to it or not. I don't have to tell you where I'm going, or who I'm dealing with. You can't hold me here against my will. I'm not a child anymore."

"Then stop acting like a bloody child!" Lupin snapped, a barely audible growl in his throat. "What good is defeating Voldemort and living to tell about it if you die -"

"What good is it?" Harry pushed past Lupin and made his way to a door, hoping it was the way to get out. "Who cares if I die tracking these men down? At least I'll have died in the line of duty. Plenty of honorable men have done so. Mad-Eye, for one."

Pushing open the door, Harry was disappointed to find it was just the loo, but made his way in anyway. He turned on the faucet and looked at himself in the mirror. His skin was unmarred on his face, thankfully. But he could see fresh, puffy scars on his neck, trailing beneath his t-shirt. Damn hexes.

He took off his glasses and splashed water onto his face. He rested his forearms on the sink, and lowered his head on top of them, hunched over and breathing in the steam. Lupin walked up to the doorway and he heard him sigh.

"Is that what this is about? Normalcy?" When Harry said nothing - he'd had this conversation with almost everyone since the end of the war - Lupin reached out hesitantly and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. He didn't shove it off; he just kept his head over the sink. "I know that it's been a burden on you since you were eleven years old - being the hero, the one everyone looks to for help. But they don't make you who you are, Harry. You need to decide on your own what you want for your life. Don't risk your life every time a new escaped Death Eater, or law breaker, comes across your desk."

"But I enjoy catching the bad guys. I just don't enjoy this," Harry raised his head and waved around the bathroom. "Being rescued like a child, and taken to some hiding place so no one finds out that the precious Golden Boy has been injured. I hate hiding Remus. This isn't what my friends want, this isn't what my family wants, and this most certainly isn't what my parents or Sirius would have wanted."

Lupin had nothing to say to this. He remained silent.

"I will not go on vacation. There's nothing I can do anywhere to get away. I will not find a new job. I will not stop what I'm doing."

Harry walked over to the enormous bath tub - whoever's house this was, they had money - and turned on three of the faucets to take a bath. Just as Lupin was about to walk from the room to give Harry privacy, Harry asked again, "who's house is this?"

"Malfoy's," was all Lupin said.

Harry growled and slammed the bathroom door shut, and a moment later his fist made a hole in the wall.

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When Harry was done with his bath, he returned to the now empty bedroom. It was plain. White walls with a four poster bed. There was an armoir on one wall, across from the bed, a free standing mirror beside the bed, and a desk to the right of the door. It was obviously a guest room - and, if he knew the Malfoys, it was meant for the less important guests that would travel through.

On the bed, Harry found a fresh pair of robes. Lupin probably told the house elf to leave them. They weren't his, but as long as they weren't Malfoy's then it didn't matter much to him. They, too, were plain; only black with red thread.

Once dressed, he found his trainers and pulled them on. He made his way to the bathroom, repaired the damage he'd done to the wall, and double checked the room for anything that may be his. Then he pulled open the door leading into the hallway.

He stood there for a moment, trying to figure out where to go next. The manor was large, and he'd never been anywhere here before. Sighing, he went left until he found a staircase. Painting lined the wall of glowering family members, obviously knowing who he was. A few spat out bitter words as he passed by, but he waved them off, much to their displeasure.

As he approached the end of the stairs, he heard voices coming from his right. He paused for a moment, and debated whether he should eavesdrop or not. Deciding to not act like a child, he squared his shoulders and approached the room where the voices came, and entered.

A fire was burning to the right, and in the center of the room stood Lupin, Hermione, Ron, and, sitting - rather, lounging like the git he was - was Malfoy. They all looked up when he entered, their conversation halting.

"Don't stop for my sake, " Harry said, his voice hinting the slightest bit of sarcasm. "Thanks, Malfoy, for the - er - " Malfoy didn't move, but raised an eyebrow, his eyes darkening and daring the raven haired man to say something. "Whatever. I'm going back home. Where can I apparate?"

Hermione started to walk forward, her hand slightly outstretched. "Harry, you should really -"

Harry sighed, and she fell silent. Ron glowered at his friend, not liking at all the way he was treating her.

"I'm fine, Hermione. Unless there's something else wrong with me that I don't know about?" When Malfoy opened his mouth, no doubt to say something caustic, Harry continued on. "I appreciate the concern. Really. But I'm one hundred times better than when I got here, and -"

"You owe me another thanks, Potter." Malfoy interrupted, standing up and walking to a cart stocked with bottles of liquor. He filled up one glass, didn't offer to anyone else, and sat back down. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I don't owe you anything. I've done enough for you."

There was tense silence in the room. The three Gryffindors looked at one another awkwardly as Malfoy grinned at Harry, who returned the look with a glare.

"Ah," he took a long drink from his glass. "I take it you weren't informed."

It wasn't a question, really, just a mere observation. Harry looked up at Lupin, who muttered something to Malfoy.

"Harry, er, Malfoy's the one who found you," Hermione said quietly, not daring to look at anyone. She kept her eyes on the ground.

Making his hands into fists, Harry fought to keep his anger, and embarrassment, under control. He remembered hands on his face, cool hands, and being forced to try and stay awake. Harry bristled, squaring his shoulders again, and tried his best to keep a stone face as he stared at the blond.

"How?"

"Hmm," Malfoy said thoughtfully, drinking from his glass again. He had that stupid grin on his face still, obviously enthralled with the situation. "I don't suppose I'm on the record, eh Potty? Because I most certainly won't appreciate being tried and sent to Azkaban for fraternizing with the, eh, enemy."

Without another word, Harry spun around and stormed out of the room. He didn't care how he found him, why he saved him, or even who it was who'd been hurting him. Harry was angry at himself for getting in the situation in the first place, and he'd be damned if he thanked Malfoy twice in one day.

Once he stepped outside into the bitter cold, he could feel himself calm down a bit. It had snowed here, and it was quite lovely outside. But he just wanted to go home, to be in his own bed, and to rest until he went back to work tomorrow. His head started to ache, and he quickened his pace to the edge of the property, where a wrought iron gate stood closed.

"Harry, wait!" Ron called, running to catch up with his friend. Harry stopped until Ron came up beside him, then continued to walk. "Look, mate, you really shouldn't leave."

If Ron was telling him to stay here..?

"Is there something that you need to tell me?" Harry grabbed the handle on the gate, and with his other hand he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Well, we don't really know what happened there," Ron's voice was quiet, questioning indirectly for answers. "And you've been here for nearly a week. We didn't give you anything, you just slept, and we didn't know if you were cursed, or what. You should at least stay for another night, leave tomorrow. Malfoy has connections with St. Mungos, he can get you the best doctors to look you over."

His head was now pounding painfully. Why were they being so difficult? Never before had he been injured so badly that they all told him to stay put.

"Who fixed up my arm, and whatever else was wrong with me?" Harry asked thickly, trying not to lead on that he was in pain.

Ron's silence was his answer.

"Dammit, Ron," Harry cursed, turning now to look at his friend. "Do you understand that he's not on our side? He will kill me the moment he has the chance, and -"

"He's had plenty of chances, Harry," Ron interrupted. "Look, I don't like the git either. But he did save your life, and he did stop that curse from slashing you to pieces."

"Yeah, and I kept him and his mother out of Azkaban! I testified for them, I made sure that they were treated fairly. I owe nothing to him, we're even. I don't need to stay here, just so he could try to get me back for not helping his father, or whatever other reasons he could come up with."

Nausea rolled over him, and he sank to his knees. He lowered his head into his hands, praying that the migraine would go away before he could convince Ron he was okay to go. Tears pricked his eyes, and he knew that something, indeed, could be wrong.

He didn't know where Ron was, but he knew moments later that Lupin was there as he began retching. The older man and Ron waited until he was done, and grabbed him under his shoulders. Harry couldn't imagine how ridiculous this looked, and he let his head hang, in pain and shame, as they walked back to the manor. He thought, briefly, that he could hear laughter. Damn Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Warnings:

This is, I guess now, considered an AU slash fic. It takes place post-war, and doesn't follow DH much at all. There will be some similarities, but there will be no Deathly Hallows.

Some characters in this story have been revived. I don't want to have emails saying "that's not canon, so and so is dead" or whatever. That's why it's now an AU fic.

This is a HP/DM slash. If you don't like it, don't read it )

It's been a very long time since I've written anything, so forgive me. No, I won't be updating my old stories. I've given up on those long ago, so don't ask.

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After the incident earlier in the day - the headache and vomiting - Harry decided to listen to what his friends had told him and get some rest, regardless of where he was. Lupin and Ron had dropped him on the bed in the plain guest room, and left without a word. They were acting a bit off, but Harry realized he didn't care anymore.

Currently, he was lying on the bed, his hands behind his head, contemplating. He had to admit, he was damned curious about how he ended up here, and what Malfoy meant about 'fraternizing with the enemy'. Harry wasn't dense, and he figured out quickly that Malfoy had somehow learned that he was visiting one of his father's old Death Eater companions. Pride was telling him to drop it; the less he knew about why and how he had arrived here, the better off he was forgetting the situation and possible debt he owed the twit.

It was a stupid mistake, really. His years of Auror training, on top of his Hogwarts years, fighting for his life and against Voldemort, prepared him for anything. Well, it should have. But, here he was, recuperating from a ridiculous lapse in judgment.

Harry was only human. He still, at times, had moments of compassion for people. Even those running from the Ministry. Seeing that Death Eater, who had been running for nearly ten years, hiding in every farm, under every bridge, and eating out of dumpsters, had made him feel sorry. Most of the people thrown into Azkaban the past ten years were the ones who had made themselves known as murderers. Those who had been seen by Voldemort's side in the battles. Especially those who had killed other Ministry workers and their families, along with important figures in the Wizarding World.

His mind began to wander, as it did every so often. All the people who had died, not just defending he himself, but loved ones. Ginny Weasley, who had been so brave, countering every spell and hex. She just couldn't counter the killing curse. She had stood in front of her brother, Bill, who, at the time, was expecting his first child with his wife.

Dean, Luna, McGonagall - they had died heroes.

A slight pop brought Harry out of his thoughts. He was thankful for the distraction. A tiny house elf was standing at the foot of the bed, his shoulders hunched and he looked plainly terrified. For a split second, his mind wandered to Kreacher - who had died a few years ago - and he gave the small creature a tight smile.

"Master says he wants you to have tea," the elf squeaked, quivering. "He says to not let Harry Potter decline, or he will burn Bitsy's feet."

Trust Malfoy to attempt to pull at his heartstrings.

"Fine," Harry sighed and slowly sat upright. Earlier, he'd taken a potion that apparently Malfoy had made, and his headache and nausea disappeared quickly. Still, he wasn't going to take his chances and start retching in Malfoy's presence again. "Lead the way, Miss Bitsy."

After taking the stairs at a decent pace, and following the elf to another room, apparently the library, he took a seat across from Malfoy without an invitation. Malfoy, who was lounging in his armchair, didn't seem to notice. In between the two of them was a small table, with a tray of tea on top.

"That will be all," Malfoy waved airily at the general direction of the house elf, who bowed and disappeared with another pop. He leaned foward and picked up the teapot, and poured himself a cup of tea. He didn't offer to pour any for Harry, which was fine by him. He wanted to see the blond drink it before he did.

They sat in silence for a minute, Harry studying Malfoy, while glancing around the room to make sure he wasn't about to be bombarded by ex Death Eaters. Malfoy drank his tea, re-lounged on his chair, and studied Harry right back. He broke the silence first.

"You got lucky," he said with his old drawl. There was a brief pang in Harry's chest, of what he wasn't sure, before it was gone and was replaced by the loathe he felt for the man.

"Sorry, but I don't see how luck had anything to do with you being friends with Archie."

Malfoy threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't the sneering laugh he'd heard in school, but it wasn't good natured, either.

"Friends? Potter, I've no friends," he sipped his tea again. "In case you've failed to notice, I'm monitored constantly by your people. I can't leave this bloody house without first asking permission." He glared at Harry over the rim of his tea cup, as if it were entirely his fault.

"It was either that or Azkaban, Malfoy," Harry said in a bored voice, leaning forward in his chair and pouring himself a cup. Then he looked up, and grinned a bit. "Surely you must remember that?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, but kept his face slack.

"You disgust me, Potter," Malfoy replied with a hint of anger.

Harry nodded at him, and raised his cup as if in a toast. "I disgust me too." Harry winked, trying to stay calm. He would not be the first to get angry. "Now," he went on before Malfoy could retort. The blond had looked confused momentarily; he obviously didn't expect Harry to say something like that. "I guess you're here to brag, or perhaps ask a favor of me? Because, you know, you haven't paid off your debt to me, and I'm not going back to the Ministry to ask them to lift the wards."

Malfoy was now becoming visibly angry. Harry grinned again, knowing he hit the nail on the head, so to speak.

"I saved your life, Potter," Malfoy spat out, sitting upright and slamming his tea cup on the table. He glared at Harry, his hair slightly messed from the sudden movement. Harry noted that Malfoy had let his hair grow out a bit longer, but nothing ridiculous like his father's.

"I appreciate -"

"You don't appreciate shit, apparently!" Malfoy forced himself to sit back, and take a few deep breaths to calm himself. "You were almost dead, and I helped you. Doesn't that count for anything? Saving the bloody Chosen Fool?"

Was he that desperate to get out from under the Ministry's nose? Harry bit back a smirk.

"Tell me how you found me. Maybe we can come to a compromise," Harry fought hard to keep his voice steady, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous this moment was in his eyes.

"You swear you will help me?" Malfoy asked, and it was obvious to Harry that he was hopeful. That it may crush him if Harry lies now. Had Malfoy really come this far in the ten years since he'd seen him, to all but beg for help from him? The thought made him a little sad for the blond, but he quickly squashed that feeling. This was the moment he'd wanted back in school - to have leverage on the git.

"I"m not sure what all I could do, but I will certainly try, Draco," Harry answered, and he saw Malfoy's eyes narrow as he said his first name. "Now, onto business. How did you find me?"

Malfoy picked up a scone from the tray, and held it out to Harry, offering. Harry shook his head, declining, and Malfoy shrugged and bit into it. When he was done with his bite, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a sip of his tea. Harry sighed impatiently.

"Well, I hear things from the blokes that come and go throughout here. You know, " Malfoy sneered, "when they look for Dark objects unannounced."

"That was part of the deal, Malfoy," Harry waved his hand, dismissing the sub topic.

"And I've heard from other sources that you disappear for days, sometimes weeks, on end. I got curious."

"Aurors tell you I disappear?" Harry asked, a spark of anger in his chest.

"No, no," Malfoy grinned at this, taking another bite of his scone. "I've got one of those Extendable Ears."

Harry didn't know whether he should be more surprised at the fact that Malfoy owned a Weasley product, or that he eavesdropped on Auror conversation when he was so dangerously close to being thrown into Azkaban.

"I surely hope you aren't telling me that you are eavesdropping on Ministry's business," Harry said evenly. He had to give Malfoy credit, though, for being so carefree about that fact.

"Of course not," Malfoy's grin widened. Harry couldn't help but notice that it seemed a genuine grin for Malfoy. A bit odd, yes, and definitely mischievous, but something he'd never really seen. "Anyway, they shouldn't be discussing it in a known Death Eater's home."

"Get to the point, Malfoy."

Nodding, the blond leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table. "Two weeks ago, I heard them say again that you were gone. Only this time, " Malfoy raised an eyebrow, "you didn't tell anyone where you were going. So there was some secret manhunt for you, though not very high on their list, because they seemed to believe you were vacationing. By the way, why doesn't the Prophet report your disappearances?"

"Continue your story."

"Fine," Malfoy shrugged. "I figured that maybe if I had found out where you were, I could get out of this mess, " he waved his hands around himself, indicating the near house-arrest he was on. "So I contacted Granger and had her meet me here. I told her what I'd heard, and she got, well, you know."

"Frantic?" Harry asked.

"Right. She left and I didn't hear from her for another few days. I figured they found you, so I forgot about it. But then last week Weasel came with Granger - really, Potter, did you have to put Weasel on your staff?" Malfoy raised his eyebrows, and Harry knew what the underlying message was. Without waiting for an answer, Malfoy continued, "he had gone into your office, apparently, and done what none of the other gits thought of, and searched your desk. He said you were on a lead from a secret source as to where Archie was hiding."

Harry shook his head. The story was uncharacteristic of either of his friends, much less Malfoy. "I don't believe any of the crap you're telling me, Malfoy. Ron, who despises you, and Hermione, gave you information as to where to look for me, whom you hate?"

"They were here this morning when you finally woke up, weren't they?"

Unable to come up with an answer, Harry remained silent.

"Luckily for all of us, " Malfoy continued cheerfully, pouring himself more tea, then pouring Harry some more. "I had received not too long ago an owl from Archie, who was always sucking up to my father back when he was here. He was asking for help, shelter and money I suppose, which I couldn't offer to him because of the damn wards and Auror visits. I wouldn't have offered him any of that anyway, " he said quickly, at the dark look Harry gave him. "After that, it was pretty easy to find you."

The story still didn't make sense to him. Malfoy's attitude was different - he seemed, well, not quite friendly, but friendlier. Harry guessed that ten years in near isolation would make anyone jump for conversation and niceties.

"Who found me?"

"I did," he said, his voice suddenly quiet. His face no longer had a grin, or looked cheerful. "I had to use Granger's wand, of course. But I managed to stupefy Archie before he even realized why I was there. By the looks of you at the time, I suppose I was lucky he was so quick to trust me. Weasel was very serious about nobody knowing where we were going, and that you were injured. So he managed to get me out of the house (Harry knew the wards wouldn't alarm headquarters if an Auror crossed the threshold with Malfoy), and he left Granger here, and we got you."

Harry let out a long sigh. He didn't want to admit it, but maybe he did owe Malfoy something in return for what he'd gone through.

"Then they contacted the werewolf when we got back, and, well, we did the best we could." Malfoy was still, keeping very quiet. He didn't let any emotion show on his face, however, and Harry really didn't care what caused the change in the blond's attitude.

"I'll find out what I can do for you, Malfoy," Harry stood up. "As soon as I get to work -"

"You can't," Malfoy shook his head. He had a dark look in his eyes that Harry hadn't seen before. "At least not now. The werewolf and the other two are looking for Healers that can look at you before they determine if you're okay. Archie is a dangerous person, and what he did to you was horrible, even if you did deserve some of it, " Malfoy sneered slightly, and Harry knew he was referring to the time in their 6th year when Harry had hit him with that nasty spell. "They just want to make sure you weren't cursed with anything. I mean, what good would you be to me if you died? Especially if you died in my home?"

An uneasy silence fell over the two of them. Malfoy was obviously doing all this for his own personal gain, but Harry didn't care much about that. What concerned him was the fact that he very well could have been cursed. He'd been an Auror long enough to see what some curses and Dark magic did to people. This was why it was required to go on these manhunts with a number of Aurors, but Harry didn't care. He never liked working with others, only because if they died, their death would rest on his conscience for the rest of his life.

"Do you, er, have any firewhiskey?" Harry asked, breaking the silence. A drink sounded good right about now.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Warnings:

This is, I guess now, considered an AU slash fic. It takes place post-war, and doesn't follow DH much at all. There will be some similarities, but there will be no Deathly Hallows.

Some characters in this story have been revived. I don't want to have emails saying "that's not canon, so and so is dead" or whatever. That's why it's now an AU fic.

This is a HP/DM slash. If you don't like it, don't read it )

It's been a very long time since I've written anything, so forgive me. No, I won't be updating my old stories. I've given up on those long ago, so don't ask.

**Reviews are GREATLY appreciated!**

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Malfoy had led Harry to the room he'd been in earlier in the day, where a fire was burning, and had left him to his drink. Harry had filled the largest cup he could find with firewhiskey, and within minutes it was gone. Then a second cup. By his third trip to the bar, Harry brought what was left of the firewhiskey back to his rather comfortable armchair, and watched the fire. His mind was racing with what Malfoy told him, but he knew there had to be more than what he'd offered up. For example, what was the real reason he was forced to stay here? He hated Malfoy - or, at least, he'd hated him ten years ago.

Perhaps hate was a harsh word. He didn't necessarily hate him. Narcissa had just about saved his life during the way. Sure, it was only to save her family, and perhaps, deep down, to rid the world of Voldemort for good, but she'd saved him nonetheless. That's why he had gone to court with them, defending them to the Ministry. Lucius hadn't been as lucky as his wife and son, and had been sent back to Azkaban for life. The Ministry couldn't overlook the fact that he'd brought Tom Riddle's diary to Hogwarts in his second year.

Harry knew that Malfoy wasn't putting up a fight, and was allowing him to stay in his home, only because he wanted out of his punishment. His mother had died only a few years after the war - at her own hand, Harry was disappointed to know. He thought that she was stronger than that.

Pushing down the sudden feeling of remorse for Malfoy, Harry finished off his bottle of firewhiskey. He didn't feel a damn thing from the liquor. He made his way back to the bar, and found another firewhiskey bottle.

Malfoy was allowed to leave his home. The deal was that he could come and go as he pleased, as long as it was Ministry approved, and Aurors could tail him. Harry knew that most of the time, the Aurors didn't bother to follow. He'd been seventeen at the time of the war, it was ten years ago, and Aurors had better things to do with their day than to follow a kid around who had never even been a Death Eater. They would lower the wards for five minutes at the time Malfoy said he'd be leaving, and that was it.

Smirking, Harry thought of his reference to Malfoy being a kid. It was hard to grasp that Draco Malfoy had grown up, too, and had seen his fair share of terrible things in his life. Still, he acted like he was still eleven, with his snarky attitude and stupid drawl.

A few times over the years, Harry had seen Malfoy, but not actually held a conversation with him, or even locked eyes. Sometimes in Diagon Alley, as Malfoy collected money from his vault and went shopping. Other times, he'd been in Hogsmeade, at a bar by himself. The twit had a bad reputation, Harry had learned through his partners.

He sipped on his firewhiskey, determined to let this bottle last.

Causing fights, being kicked out of random stores, and basically being the damn Slytherin he was. But, this was still not enough for the Aurors - or Ministry - to care much.

Still, Harry didn't want to feel bad for the guy. He'd gotten everything that was coming from him. And he was being treated much better than other people in his situation. Only because his mother had helped Harry, not Draco.

"Are you drinking _all _of my alcohol?"

Harry started slightly, glancing up at the blond, who was standing to his left. He must have been a bit tipsy now, if he let his mind wander and forget his surroundings like that.

"'Course not, " Harry said, lifting up the now half full bottle that was in his right hand. He realized he must look like a drunk, with an opened bottle of firewhiskey in one hand, and a glass of it in his left, but he didn't care. Afterall, Malfoy was lucky he wasn't in Azkaban.

"Are you drunk?" Malfoy sneered, grabbing the bottle from Harry's grasp. Harry narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Not at all," Harry wondered if his words came out as they should.

Draco walked over to the bar, and instead of putting the bottle away, he grabbed a glass for himself and brought the two items back. He sat down in the chair on Harry's right, facing the fireplace as well. He poured himself a drink, then set the bottle on a table that stood in between the armchairs.

"Where did everyone go, by the way?" Harry asked nonchalantly, then took another gulp of his drink.

"Weasel went to work. The werewolf said he had something to do. And Granger followed them."

"Are they going to be back? I'd like to go home sometime tonight," Harry glanced at the window on the far side of the room, and noticed the sun was beginning to set.

Malfoy remained silent, sipping on his drink. Harry's mind wandered briefly, watching Draco. He felt a tug at his heart, and squashed the feeling. He grabbed the bottle and filled his glass until a bit spilled over onto his lap.

"I don't normally have supper, so if you want something to eat, tell Bitsy. Take it from me, " Malfoy glanced at Harry sideways, "if you're going to drink like this all night, you should have something in your stomach."

"There are potions for all of that," Harry waved him off, sipping the drink off the top of the glass so he didn't spill anymore.

Suddenly, Malfoy grinned at him. "Not in my house there aren't."

Harry got angry for a second at the stupid grin, and the tone of voice he spoke to him in.

_He must be joking_, Harry thought, but didn't bother to press the subject. At this moment, he didn't care whether there were potions in the manor for hangovers.

"So," Malfoy finished his first glass and refilled it. "I assume you'll be buying our next bottles."

It wasn't a question, but Harry said, "no," anyway.

"Ah. You're freeloading in my home, eating my food, sleeping in my room, wearing my clothes, _and _I've been making your potions, yet you won't buy our next rounds?"

"You have a point," Harry sighed and reached into his pocket, where he'd placed his wand and coin purse. He opened the black bag and counted out all of the money he had, then handed it all to Malfoy. Draco's eyes widened slightly at the amount he was given, then looked up at Harry with an odd expression, but said nothing. He pocketed the money.

"Someone has to lower the wards," Malfoy muttered, and Harry was surprised to see a faint blush on the man's face. He seemed embarrassed, but Harry figured anyone would be embarrassed to ask for help if they couldn't leave their home when they pleased.

"When are you going?" Harry asked, pulling out his wand. The drink in his left hand spilled onto his lap again, and he cursed under his breath. He was definitely starting to feel something.

Malfoy had an uneasy look to him, and he glanced at a watch on his wrist. "Weasel should be here soon, I'll just have him do it."

"Hmmph," Harry grunted, then said, "you'll have the next five minutes to leave before the alarms will sound again."

Harry waved his wand and muttered a few things under his breath, but nothing happened. Glaring at the wand, he tried again. Still nothing. Harry looked up at Malfoy, who wasn't laughing at him like he'd expected him to. Instead, he had put down his drink and was starting to stand up.

"I'll just wait, Potter," Malfoy said in a disgusted tone, and Harry felt his face turn red.

"Don't you speak to me like that!' Harry snapped, standing up and putting down his drink, his hand shaking slightly. Whether it was from the drink or anger, he didn't know. "It's your damn house! I haven't been able to feel much magic in this damn place all day! It took everything in me to patch the wall in your bathroom earlier, and -"

"You put a hole in my wall?" Malfoy stepped close to Harry, his eyes dark and angry. "How dare you destroy my home after I have shacked you up in here, you ungrateful bastard."

"Ungrateful bastard?" Harry repeated, taking a step closer to Malfoy. His mind was racing, and he couldn't think of one damn thing to say that made sense. "I saved you from Azk -"

"You saved me from nothing, Potter. Look around you, you selfish prick! I live in isolation! I have to ask permission to leave my home. I can't have guests over, nor can I go to anyone's home without being accompanied by your stupid Aurors! My mother killed herself because she had nobody left, no thanks to you! Dementors drain out all happiness and make you relive every horrible thing you've gone through? So does this manor. At least I'd be with my father if I were in Azkaban." Malfoy looked as if he was about to spit on Harry, but instead he spun around and stormed from the room.

Harry picked up his glass, gulped the last of it in one go, and threw the glass against the wall beside the door Malfoy just disappeared from. That was probably another thing he shouldn't have broken, but he didn't care.

Making sure his wand was in his pocket, he strode out of the room. Whatever Malfoy was playing at, Harry was done. There was no good reason to be here. He wasn't going to take this from Malfoy.

Throwing open the doors that led to the front yard, Harry stalked up to the iron gate. Nobody tried to stop him this time. He grasped the handle, and turned it, but it was locked. Cursing under his breath, he pulled out his wand, then said _alohamora_. Just like inside, nothing happened. He said it again, and there was a slight clicking sound, but the handle still wouldn't budge.

_Stupid manor. Stupid magic draining manor._ Harry thought, and looked up to see if he could climb the fence.

Pocketing his wand, he grabbed a hold of the bars, and placed his right foot in one of the iron designs on the fence. He began climbing up, but once he was about four feet off the ground, his stomach started to turn. The drink made his vision blurry and the world was slightly spinning. Harry took a deep breath and continued to climb up.

Without warning, he was yanked off the fence and onto his back on the snow covered ground. He stared up at Malfoy, who held a glass of water in his right hand. Then, Malfoy dumped the water on Harry's face. Sputtering and cursing loudly, Harry kicked his foot at Draco's knees, bringing him to the ground next to him. He rolled over to hit Draco, missed, and was met with a punch on his face. Harry groaned and turned his back on Draco, holding his face and head. It's not that the punch hurt - it really didn't - but that mixed with the alcohol made the world spin faster.

"Draco, you stupid git," Harry muttered from under his arms.

"My apologies, _Harry_," Malfoy shoved Harry's shoulder, hard, and Harry heard him stand up. "You may not be wanted in my home, but there's nowhere else you can go at the moment. Get inside before Weasley gets here and hexes me for letting you out of the house."

"Serves you right," Harry said, not moving from the ground. "And I'm allowed out of anywhere I go. _I'm _not the one on house arrest."

Mafloy let out a bark of laughter. "Shut your bloody mouth."

"Make me," Harry said childishly, still not moving from his fetal position on the ground. He didn't dare open his eyes if the world was continuing to spin.

Harry's body was lifted into the air, and when Harry opened his mouth to protest, his voice wouldn't make a sound. He opened his eyes and moved his arms, and saw that he was being levitated by Malfoy, who was now grinning at him as he walked back inside, Harry beside him.

_Stupid Malfoy_, Harry thought sourly. _He better give me my voice back._

The two of them went up the stairs and into Harry's room. He was levitated a few feet over his bed, and when Malfoy released the spell, Harry crashed onto the bed. His vision blurred and he knew he had to be rocking slightly as his world moved around him.

"Here's your drink back," Malfoy said kindly, handing Harry a glass. Harry gulped it quickly, hoping it would stop him from moving. There wasn't the usual burn in his throat after drinking firewhiskey, and he realized within seconds that he'd now completely sobered up.

He also realized that he'd been somewhat of a jerk, though he would never admit it to Malfoy. Instead, he glared.

"Weasley and Lupin are due to arrive in a few minutes." Was all Malfoy said before leaving the room. Harry glanced at the desk by the door, and saw a tray of bread and what looked like stew.

Before he could get up to eat, Lupin and Ron came into the room and shut the door, not looking at Harry. They both had chairs that they placed on either side of the bed, and they sat down. Harry watched curiously; it'd been the first time in a while that neither of them had not greeted Harry when they saw him. They both looked tired.

"Where's Malfoy?" Harry asked, looking at the closed door.

"He went to Diagon Alley," Ron said, but before Harry could say anything, he began talking again. "We've been doing a lot of research, Harry, and Hermione is still trying to find some more information on this, but we think we know what's wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me, Ron," Harry snapped. "I just need to go home and rest. I had a really rough few weeks, and I -"

"Stop it," Lupin cut him off, and leaned forward. He looked sad, and Harry grew very quiet. "When you were passed out for those few days after we brought you back here, strange things happened. We had to strap you down because you were hurting yourself with your magic. You screamed, and thrashed, and there was nothing we could do but to watch you and make sure you didn't kill yourself. You got sick, you yelled. At one point, we were locked out of your room - we don't know how, but we think it was your magic keeping us out. You began screaming so horribly that I think we all knew you were going to die. There was a huge flash of light from the room, and we were knocked back a few feet by the light."

"My magic," Harry said quietly, dropping his eyes to the bed.

"We didn't know at first if that's what it was. We still aren't sure. We didn't find anything when we looked today, but Hermione is better at finding this kind of stuff," Ron tried to sound cheery, but failed.

"Draco told us how you couldn't unlock the gate, or take down the wards," Lupin placed his hand on Harry's knee gently.

"That could've been the drink. I performed magic earlier, patching the hole in the wall in the bathroom," Harry shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his wand, and determined to prove them wrong, said, "_lumos_". Nothing happened.

"Chances are, if you performed magic earlier, it what remained." Lupin sounded so down.

"But how? I've never heard of this happening," Harry began to panic. He was nothing without his magic. He'd have to live the rest of his life as a squib.

"Sometimes it does, Harry," Ron answered. "People burn themselves out. It's possible that you did that, with all the spells you were doing in your coma."

"Or, what we think is more likely, Archie may have performed some ancient spell. He knows all kinds of Dark magic. That would be easily to find out with veritaserum, and even more would be a counter spell to reverse the drainage of your power." Lupin said, but he didn't sound very sure of what he was saying.

"What about work?" Harry crossed his legs, and began tapping his wand on his knee nervously. "I mean, once they find out that I've shorted out, so to speak, they can't hide that from the _Prophet_ for too long, and then all hell will break loose."

"We're just going to have to deal with it," Ron shrugged, then grinned. "It'll be my time to come out on top, eh Harry?"

"So does that mean I can go home?"

Lupin and Ron exchanged looks, then they shook their heads. Lupin answered.

"Not now. We want to keep this out of the public as long as possible. If anyone sees you, that puts your life at risk since you can't defend yourself."

"And you trust Malfoy not to kill me?" Harry snapped, dropping his head into his hands. Suddenly, his entire left seemed pointless. They'd never get his magic back.

"He found you, and he has known what's going on since we brought you here. He's had plenty of opportunities to kill you," Lupin patted Harry softly on his head. "It'll work out, Harry. We'll get the best Healers to see you, and question Archie, and we'll find out everything we can."

Harry remained quiet. There was nothing he could say or do, much less think. Everything was gone. Everything.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry laid down on the bed. He closed his eyes, and said quietly, "I just want to be alone now."

His two friends left the room with quiet good-byes. Harry didn't want to cry, but he couldn't help it.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Warnings:

This is, I guess now, considered an AU slash fic. It takes place post-war, and doesn't follow DH much at all. There will be some similarities, but there will be no Deathly Hallows.

Some characters in this story have been revived. I don't want to have emails saying "that's not canon, so and so is dead" or whatever. That's why it's now an AU fic.

This is a HP/DM slash. If you don't like it, don't read it )

It's been a very long time since I've written anything, so forgive me. No, I won't be updating my old stories. I've given up on those long ago, so don't ask.

Reviews are GREATLY appreciated!

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Harry had stayed in bed the rest of the night, curled up and thinking, then fighting tears, and drifting in and out of consciousness. He'd heard the door open a few times before midnight, and he figured it was one of his friends, or Malfoy, though the latter seemed uncharacteristic. His thoughts would race back to Malfoy, and how he'd spent the last twenty four hours arguing, fighting, and almost having a good time. Every time he thought of Malfoy as he drifted into sleep, he'd startle awake after having a dream about the blond, though he couldn't remember what it was about once he tried to think about it.

Then, he'd get angry at himself for dreaming of the man, and he'd roll onto his other side and try to think of something else. It was either Malfoy, or his inability to do magic, and both subjects infuriated him.

_What's happened to me_? Harry thought at one point as a clock in the manor rang once, indicated 1 AM.

When he'd left school after his sixth year, he was more grown up than before. He'd witnessed the death of his headmaster, and knew that he could share the same fate. So he threw himself into training, trying desperately to learn how to defeat the wizard that no one else could. There were hundreds of times that he just wanted to give up. It wasn't like he had anyone waiting for him if he succeeded in killing the Dark Lord. Sure, he had Hermione, and the Weasley's, and the rest of the Order, but no actual family. At times he'd wondered, what's the point?

And then after he'd defeated Voldemort, by the skin of his teeth, there really seemed like there was no point in being around anymore. _The Prophet_ was beginning to focus on every aspect of his life. There were articles about lovers, how he dressed, even where he shopped! It was disgusting, yet there was nothing he could do.

Of course, his next goal was to complete Auror training. He didn't need to work, but he certainly didn't want to end up like the Gaunts, though he doubted he would.

With each day that passed, Harry had to throw himself into work. He had nothing anymore. He was reckless because he needed something to do, something to pass his time. It was stupid to follow Archie alone, but, and he'd never dare admit this to anyone, the drink he'd had the night before had convinced him that there was nothing that Archie could do to hurt him. He'd been sober when he left to find the man, of course, but it still had him sure of himself.

These thoughts made Harry think about drinking, which he liked to do every night after work. It helped him unwind. Plus, when you have nobody to come home to, and nothing to do, it gave him a bit of company.

_I could stop if I wanted to,_ Harry thought, but part of him didn't believe that.

Harry closed his eyes tightly as the clock struck two. He needed to go to sleep, but he couldn't. His mind was racing.

"Bitsy?" Harry asked into the darkness in a quiet voice. There was a quiet pop a moment later, but before she could say anything, he spoke to her. "Did Malfoy bring anything back from Diagon Alley?"

"Yes sir," the house-elf squeaked.

"What was it?"

"Master brought drink, and some food for Master Potter."

_Master_ Potter? Bloody hell.

"Do you mind bringing one of the bottles here for me?" Harry asked the elf. He really wasn't hungry. He wondered briefly when the last time he ate was.

Within seconds, Harry had the bottle of firewhiskey open, and he was taking long drinks from it. He'd only had one-fourth of the bottle before he closed it, sat it down on the floor, and fell right asleep.

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A loud crash startled Harry awake. He sat upright, frantically reaching for his glasses, and when he got them on, he saw Malfoy standing beside his bed, holding the bottle of alcohol. Harry couldn't read the look on his face, but was sure what the prick would say.

"You pretended to be asleep last night, waited until I went to bed, and then started to drink without me?"

Well, that wasn't _exactly_ what Harry thought he'd say.

Harry laid back down and rolled over, his back now to Malfoy. Briefly, he wondered what Malfoy would do to him, but decided he didn't care. It's not like he could defend himself if he faced him.

"Bloody hell, Potter," Malfoy drawled, walking around the bed until he was facing Harry again. Harry closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at the smirking face. "Stop whining and moping about."

"What do you care, Malfoy? You don't like me, and you've made it quite clear you don't even want me here. I'm staying out of your way, aren't I?" Harry opened his eyes and glared at Draco, who was standing with his arms crossed. He wore a very nice pair of black trousers and a green turtleneck sweater, no doubt to rub his House colors into Harry's face as much as possible.

"Just come on. Get dressed. We're going to go to the yard in the back." Malfoy walked over to the armoire and pulled out a pair of black trousers, similar to the ones he wore, and a maroon sweater.

"Are we representing our House colors, Malfoy?" Harry asked, eying the outfit that Malfoy held up.

Malfoy grinned and tossed the clothes on the mattress. "I look fantastic in green, it just so happens. And I didn't know what color would look good on you, so we'll see. Get dressed."

Deeply confused, Harry sat up and grabbed the clothes and walked into the bathroom. Maybe, after all of these years, Malfoy had softened, or something. As he got dressed, his mind wandered to how Malfoy had looked in that sweater.

He's Draco Malfoy, he told himself, then tried to flatten his hair in the mirror. He reached for his wand, then caught himself. He sighed and made sure the rest of his clothes looked good (they looked great), and opened the door.

Malfoy whistled from the bed. He was lounging, with his hands behind his head, and Harry lowered his eyes. _It's Malfoy, it's Malfoy._

"Not bad, Potty, " Malfoy stood up in one fluid motion, and walked over to Harry. He stood in front of him, studying the man carefully, before nodding. "You could do with a haircut, but let's not worry about that right now."

"Are you the fashion police or something?" Harry snapped, walking toward the door to the hallway. He was suddenly embarrassed. He felt like he'd just shared some weird intimate moment, though that's far from what it was. Malfoy himself was acting, well, not like a Malfoy would act. He stopped and turned to Malfoy, who was trailing behind him, and eyed him curiously. "Are you drunk?"

"It's never too early to start drinking when you're in my home," Draco said with a smirk, then shook his head. "I am not drunk, not yet anyway. Would you like some?" He offered the bottle of firewhiskey to Harry. "I bought plenty last night, and some harder, tastier liquor for later in the day."

Harry grabbed the bottle and took a few swigs, then handed it back to Malfoy. He watched the blond from the corner of his eye. Draco was walking tall, obviously very proud, as they walked through the house to doors that led in the back. Harry wondered briefly what it was like living here, especially under Auror supervision.

He stopped suddenly. Malfoy kept walking a few feet, then stopped and turned, staring at Harry curiously.

"When are the Aurors supposed to be here to check on you?"

"Not until the end of next week. Why?"

"I thought I didn't want to be seen yet, because of the whole no magic thing." Harry looked around the corridor they stopped in. "Should I even go outside?"

"You're fine outside. I was still allowed to keep most of the wards we had up. Nobody can see onto this property at all, since it's a fairly close distance to Muggles. Unless you come in through the house, and none of the Aurors even bother to come out here anymore."

_I'll have to remember to let the staff know not to do a half ass job_. Harry thought, then winced. _If I go back._

Harry took another drink from the bottle before following Malfoy through the back door.

The yard wasn't as big as he thought it'd be. But then again, the Malfoy's didn't seem like the type of family to own pets that needed a yard, or really the type of people who liked to lounge in the sun during the summer. There was patio furniture, and a pond (magically made to not freeze over in the winter, apparently), and what seemed to be a lawn and a garden in the back, but it was covered in snow.

Malfoy sat down in one of the chairs next to the table on the porch, and a second later Bitsy appeared with a tray of food. Harry sat down across from Malfoy as he took two plates off of the tray, putting one in front of himself, and one in front of Harry.

"Er, I'm not -"

"Yes," Malfoy interrupted, nodding his head and narrowing his eyes. "I'm trying to be a good host, and it's rude to not accept what I offer. Besides, " Malfoy said distastefully, looking Harry up and down, "you look as if you've had a meal in some time. And no, I'm not concerned about your health, Potter. I couldn't care less if you're an alcohol and anorexic, or whatever you appear to be. It would look really bad if you died here, however. I can see the headlines now: Harry Potter found dead in ex-Death Eater's home, starved. Thanks, but no thanks."

Harry picked up his fork and jammed it into the scrambled eggs on his plate. He muttered, "I'm not anorexic," and fell silent as he ate.

"Depressed, suicidal, anorexic, whatever you want people to believe."

"I'm none of those," Harry snapped and looked up, glaring at Malfoy. "And I'll only ask once to mind your own business, thank you very much."

"Of course." Malfoy smirked, and continued his meal.

_I don't even know why I bothered to come out here, wearing this stupid sweater_. Harry thought bitterly, finishing everything on his plate. He had to admit, after he was done, it felt good to have some food in him.

He looked around the yard, and quickly got bored. It was cold outside, and his clothes didn't really keep him warm. He'd seen plenty of snow in his life, and he didn't know why Malfoy even brought him out here.

"I have thestrals," Malfoy said, as if reading his thoughts. Harry's head snapped back to look at Malfoy, his eyes wide. "I mean, I've only got two. Nobody knows about them. I don't even know where they came from, really. But I saw them shortly after my mum died."

"Why didn't you tell anyone? That's dangerous! Where do you keep them? I'll have to contact the Department of Magical Creatures, and -"

"Please." Malfoy leaned forward, cutting Harry off for a second time. His face was a mask, but Harry could see his eyes begging. "They're safe here. And they aren't forced to stay. They like it here. There are plenty of animals that they eat in the woods over there, and I don't know how long they've been here, but at least for a few years."

Harry could hear the underlying message. _They're all I've got_.

"Let me see them," Harry said and stood up quickly. "Where are they?"

"You swear you won't harm them, or I won't show you."

"I swear."

Malfoy stood up and began walking to the back of the yard. They passed the pond, and walked to the garden. Along the wall was an overgrowth of trees, weeds, and vines. He tapped his wand on the wall, similar to when Hagrid had first brought Harry to Diagon Alley, and a door appeared. They stepped through.

There were indeed two thestrals some fifty feet away from where they stood. The animals looked over, but didn't seem to care about the intruders. Harry briefly wondered if they were cold.

The two men walked over to the animals. Harry lifted his hand and gently pet the closest one on the nose. It moved away slightly, but didn't try to leave. A smile made its way onto Harry's face, and he felt like a kid again. He closed his eyes and thought about the last time he'd seen a thestral, and his heart grew a bit sad thinking about Sirius.

When he opened his eyes a minute later, he looked at Malfoy. He had his eyes closed, one hand on the animal's neck. The affection he was showing the thestral made Harry want to turn away to give them privacy. He'd never seen Malfoy affectionate. It was intriguing.

Malfoy looked up at Harry, and the two locked eyes for a long minute. Harry studied his eyes and was ashamed and even excited to realize the shared moment made his pulse quicken. He looked away first, embarrassed.

"Could I fly?" Harry asked, looking around the woods.

"Only this one," Malfoy answered, petting the thestral next to him. "I think that one is old and doesn't like to fly much."

As Harry walked closer to the animal, Malfoy climbed up onto its back. Harry stopped, agitated.

"You can't fly _by yourself_," Malfoy said with a hint of a smile. "You could fall and hurt yourself, which goes back to my earlier comment of how bad it would be if you die in my care. Or you could run away, and that puts your life at risk to all of those who would like to see you dead. Personally, I don't want a werewolf, Weasley, Granger, and, well, every person who admires you in the world to come after me."

Then Malfoy extended a hand down to Harry. Harry debated a moment before taking his hand, and again his pulse quickened. Draco's fingers held tightly to Harry's hand, and he pulled him up behind him easily.

"Now, you can put your hands on my hips if you want," Malfoy turned his head to the side, looking at Harry with one eye. Then he grinned mischievously. "Don't try to get frisky either, Potty. I may not be able to contain myself."

Harry was so startled by the comment that he didn't hold on to anything when Draco encouraged the animal to take off into the air. Harry nearly fell off, but threw his arms around Malfoy's waist out of habit, then felt his face grow hot. He sat back and wrapped his arms around Malfoy's chest, praying that it wouldn't look sexual to Malfoy.

Within minutes, however, he didn't care how he looked or felt. He let go of Malfoy at one point, and threw his arms in the air, with his head thrown back. It was freezing outside, and the cold air was chapping his face and whipping his hair around, but it was great. He didn't even remember the last time he'd flown. He couldn't fly in his job, and when he came home, he sat down with a drink and supper before getting ready for bed. He had no time to fly anymore.

_I need to make time to fly_, Harry thought with a huge smile.

Harry didn't know how long they were up there, flying around, both laughing after a while. Once Malfoy started to descend back to the ground, Harry realized how much his face hurt, and how numb his body was. Without thinking, he put his arms around the blond's waist and put his face against his back, blocking himself from the wind.

As soon as they landed, Malfoy gracefully jumped down, and Harry tumbled after him. He landed on his knees in front of Malfoy, and blushed as he stood up, brushing the snow off of his pants. He looked up at Draco, and his breath caught. He was very close, but he couldn't move away. Harry studied Malfoy's eyes, taking in just how unusual and beautiful and mysterious they were, before Malfoy cleared his throat and stepped back.

"I don't know about you, but I'm bloody freezing," Malfoy said, turning around to go back in through the secret door. "After you take a bath, there will be some fresh clothes in the armoire for you. I'll be in my study, and we'll take lunch there."

Once they got back to the patio table, Harry grabbed the firewhiskey bottle and went back inside, not waiting for Malfoy.

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Reviews are GREATLY appreciated! I'm not going to keep writing if I don't know anyone is reading this )


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Warnings:

This is, I guess now, considered an AU slash fic. It takes place post-war, and doesn't follow DH much at all. There will be some similarities, but there will be no Deathly Hallows.

Some characters in this story have been revived. I don't want to have emails saying "that's not canon, so and so is dead" or whatever. That's why it's now an AU fic.

This is a HP/DM slash. If you don't like it, don't read it )

It's been a very long time since I've written anything, so forgive me. No, I won't be updating my old stories. I've given up on those long ago, so don't ask.

Reviews are GREATLY appreciated!

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Draco shut his bedroom door, locked it, and leaned his head against the cool wood. His closed his eyes and let out a long breath. It took everything in him not to lose his composure, to blurt out something stupid to Potter. Stupid Potter, being clumsy and falling off the damn thestral. He rolled his neck, then pushed away from the door.

_The whole thing was a bad idea_, Draco thought sourly, pulling his sweater over his head and throwing it on the floor. He toed off his shoes and left them behind, not caring where they ended up. He walked into his bathroom, ignoring the chirping of his owl from across the room. _I shouldn't have taken Potter outside in the first place._

He gripped the counter in his bathroom, and kept his head bent over the sink, not looking up at his reflection. He was tired, and wasn't in the mood to entertain anymore. He wanted a shower, and wanted to be alone.

_I've been alone for so long_, he told himself, trying to convince himself that it was _good _that Potter was here. But he knew that it was far from a good thing. Old feelings, ones he'd forgotten even existed inside of him, were stinging like fresh wounds now. He remembered why he hated Potter so much in school. The looks of disgust Potter had given him, the way his friends laughed and fawned over Potter like he was some stupid God. _I deserved it. I treated them badly._ Draco spun around and angrily pulled the knob to 'on' in his shower, and hot water shot out of the faucet.

_I only did what I was expected to do. I'm a Malfoy, and was a Slytherin. It was my duty to uphold our image, not jump for Potty's attention._

He pulled off his pants and stepped into the warm water. He leaned his hands against the tile wall, and let the water hit the top of his head. It burned, because his body was still so cold from the flying, but he ignored it. Nothing hurt more than what he felt emotionally.

"I shouldn't have looked for you," Draco said aloud, pounding his fist against the wall.

_He would've died_, he told himself, and knew it was true. He closed his eyes tightly, thinking of the moment he stunned Archie and found Potter bleeding to death, hardly any parts of his body unmarred. His face was the only thing that didn't seem to be bleeding, but it was still bruised.

_Draco had touched Harry gently, his hands keeping Harry's head still, green eyes locked with his own.. He was badly hurt, and extremely feverish. He was going to die._

_"What's wrong with him?" Weasel had asked from behind Draco, who was busy mending the _sectumsempra_ -made gashes along Potter's body. He didn't have time to heal them completely, but managed to staunch the blood flow. Harry was so close to death, he was so sick._

_"He will die if we don't get him out of here," Draco snapped, pushing Harry's hair off his forehead. He had a grin on his face - one that made Draco horribly uneasy. He'd seen that look before, right before Voldemort killed someone after long hours of torture._

Draco rubbed his eyes under the warm water. That was a memory he'd prefer to get rid of, if he could find a bottle later.

Quickly, he finished his shower. He wrapped his towel around his waist and walked into his bedroom. He called for his house-elf. She appeared with a loud _pop_ and bowed.

"We'll be taking lunch in my study in thirty minutes. Make it some kind of soup and bread, or something," Draco waved and the elf disappeared. He didn't even care, he wasn't hungry. He just had to feed Potter.

_I don't _have _to, _Draco thought, picking up his wand and muttering a charm to dry the water on his body. _I want to._

His mind started wandering to just a few minutes before, when they were outside, flying. He heard Potter laughing, and definitely felt his arms wrapped around him, head against his back. It made Draco's stomach drop, and he felt himself start to blush.

_Potter's different now._

Draco pulled on a nice robe, but made sure it wasn't _too _nice, or too inappropriate for a casual lunch. Draco wondered momentarily if Potter was even aware of such things, and if Potter would know he wasn't dressing up for the afternoon together.

_He's not like _that

Something in the back of his mind argued. He saw an image in his mind's eye, as he stood in front of his mirror, charming his hair to look presentable. After Potter had fallen off the thestral, there was that moment they just stared. He could've sworn he heard Harry - _no, Potter! -_ gasp ever so quietly.

_No._ _He's still Harry bloody Potter, and he's still the reason I'm stuck here, alone and miserable, every bloody day of my life. My mother would still be alive if it weren't for him._ Draco shoved his wand into his pocket and pulled on his shoes.

_"Don't let animosity rule your life, Draco," Narcissa had said, shortly before she took her own life. Draco had been pacing the length of her bedroom, clutching the latest edition of The Prophet in his fist and cursing loudly._

_"He's a bloody Auror, mum!" Draco snapped at his mom. _

_I'm sorry for yelling at you, mum_, Draco thought as he pulled open his bedroom door and stomped to the staircase.

_"So what if he is?" Narcissa asked with a soft sigh. She had looked so sad._

_I should've seen it coming. But I was too distracted by Harry fuckin Potter._ Draco threw the door of his study open, and was pleased to see Potter hadn't arrived yet.

_"He'll be here every chance he gets to rub in the fact that he's free and alive and we're not!" Draco had thrown the newspaper on the ground and stepped on it. _

_"Don't be bitter, son," Narcissa held her arms out to her boy, and he knelt down and hugged her tightly. "If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be here now. I can't imagine how things would be now, if the Dark Lord were alive."_

_Draco had mumbled something incoherent. Narcissa gripped her son tighter. _

_"I love you, Draco. Please remember that."_

Draco sat down at his mother's piano on the opposite side of his study. He opened it and placed his fingers lightly over the keys. He felt a tear roll down his face, and he quickly wiped it away before playing.

Minutes went by while Draco played, his eyes closed the entire time. He poured his heart into the music, as he did occasionally. It was his tribute to his mother. She loved the piano, and she'd always encouraged Draco to take lessons and to learn. He didn't care when she was alive, he didn't have time. Nowadays, he had all the time in the world.

The moment he finished playing, he let out a soft sigh, bowing his head over the keys. He kept his eyes closed, trying to get a hold of his emotions quickly before he had to entertain again. He turned on his bench to get a glass of whiskey, and froze when his eyes landed on Potter.

Potter began clapping.

Draco narrowed his eyes, fighting _hard _to not blush or show embarrassment, though his insides were burning. The stupid git walked in on his music, and heard how much?

_It's not like he wasn't allowed to be in here. I told him to meet me here. _He reminded himself, but still didn't stop glaring. He said nothing while he made his way to the mini bar and poured himself a large whiskey. He took a long drink from it, before topping off the glass again.

"I didn't know you played," Potter said from behind him.

"I learned for my mother," Draco replied coarsely, not turning around. He needed to get his emotions in check.

Potter said nothing. Draco didn't know what Potter _could _say. Maybe a, _what was she like_? Yeah, like that would go over well.

"I wish I'd learned an instrument." The silence was broken by Potter. Draco turned around and saw he was now sitting in an armchair beside the piano. "Is it much fun?"

Draco shrugged. He didn't move to sit beside Potter. He _wanted _to, but he couldn't. He needed to stay away. Potter was only here until his stupid friends could find a better hiding place.

He suddenly had an urge to talk. So, he stupidly said, "don't Muggles play instruments loads more than Wizards? Couldn't you have learned then, when you were still a student?"

Potter's face grew very solemn, and his eyes were dark. Draco immediately regretted the questions, and turned his back and prepared a drink for Potter. _It's not like he needs it_, he thought as he poured a glass of whiskey. _He's a bloody alcoholic as it is._ The thought concerned him in the slightest way.

Draco made his way toward Potter, and handed him the glass and sat down across from him. He tried not to watch Potter as he drank half his glass in one gulp. It was getting harder to deny his curiosity about the man in front of him, though. He'd had the smallest, _smallest _crush when they were younger. No, not even a crush. He wasn't gay, and still isn't. He was just as amazed as most of the other Wizards in their world at the Boy-Who-Lived. That was all. He was star-struck.

_What happened to you, Potter_? He wanted to ask. Potter was unhealthy and surely would die in a stupid way quite soon. He would have died last week if it weren't for Archie being the dunce he was and spilling where he was located.

"It's hard to take up an instrument when you live in a cupboard or are fighting off your family from beating you," Harry said, bringing Draco out of his thoughts. Draco had forgotten he'd even asked a question.

Draco raised an eyebrow. Surely, Potter was lying. "The bloody Golden Boy was disliked by family? I highly doubt that." Draco made a point to look Harry up and down, and immediately regretted it. Potter looked good in his green button up shirt and slacks. "Besides, you're much too tall to fit in a cupboard."

Potter finished off his glass and stood up to refill it. He paused to stare down at Draco, his face serious. "I wouldn't lie about abuse, Malfoy."

As if on cue, to break the awkward conversation, Bitsy appeared with two trays with bowls, plates, and bread. She set them on a low coffee table beside the two armchairs, and bowed before leaving again. Draco leaned forward, set his glass on the table, and picked up his bowl and bread. He put it in his lap, not caring how bad it looked.

"My aunt was horribly jealous of my mum," Potter suddenly said, settling back down into his chair. He didn't even look at the food. Instead, he swished the liquid in his glass around, watching it spin. "She told awful things of her and my dad to my uncle after they died, I'm sure. My cousin and I are the same age, and he was spoiled rotten. A fat oaf, probably still is. I got the cupboard under the stairs for the first ten years I live there. I was small enough. When I got back from my first year at Hogwarts, I was given my own room because they were afraid of being mistreated, themselves." Potter drank from his glass. Draco remained silent, munching on his bread. He wanted to tell Potter to stop, that he didn't care about his petty problems, but he couldn't and knew that he'd be lying. "My uncle didn't really lay a hand on me when I lived there. My cousin did, though. And, you know me," Potter smirked at Draco, but there was no humour in it. "I'm a fantastic fighter."

"Right," Draco smirked back, feeling more uncomfortable.

"Nobody tried to stop him from beating the hell out of me. I couldn't use magic on him, or I'd be expelled _and _lose a spot in their home. At least they fed me and kept me clothed, even if I ate after every one else and got nasty hand-me-downs from Dudley."

Before Draco could even knew what he was saying, he blurted out, "no wonder you got along wonderfully with the Weasleys."

The comment was so bad that even Draco grimaced. Harry stood up, very obviously angry, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Potter -"

"No," Harry cut him off, shaking his head. "It was stupid of me to say anything to you. I just thought that.." he trailed off, then shook his head again. "Forget it, Malfoy."

Harry stormed out of the study. Draco watched him leave, his heart sinking. He said a stupid, childish thing, and they'd been somewhat getting along.

_Who cares? It's just Potter, and he deserves it anyway._

Draco didn't believe that anymore.

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An hour went by before Draco got the courage to try and apologise. He knew that when he shocked himself by a comment, it was bad, and he needed to fix it. Or just say something that sounded like an apology and maybe Potter would understand.

Before Draco could go up the stairs, however, a package landed at his feet. An owl zoomed back up the stairs and probably out a window that Draco kept open for mail. His heart began to pound quickly as he reached for the envelope. He rarely got mail. A card was on the plain package and he opened it nervously.

_Aurors coming. Hide Harry_.

Draco ripped open the package, and pulled out a silvery cloak. He stared at it a moment, confused. Voices outside broke his stare, and he took the steps two at a time to get to Potter.

"Bitsy!" He shouted, and the house-elf appeared at the top of the stairs. Draco passed her and started running. "Clear out the dishes from the study _now!"_

Draco threw open the bedroom door and tossed the cloak to Potter, who looked startled and confused.

"Aurors," Draco said, slightly out of breath.

Harry looked startled only a second longer before he stood up and threw the cloak on. And then he was gone.

"Potter?" Draco whispered.

"I'm here, get out."

An Invisibility Cloak? Draco shook his head and left the room just as the Aurors entered the manor. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and narrowed his eyes.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" He asked in a sharp tone of voice when he appeared at the top of the stairs. "You aren't due until next week."

"Stay out of our way, Malfoy," the one Auror, McDaniel, snapped at Draco. It was quite obvious he didn't want to be here.

"I'll be in the den," Draco walked down the stairs and walked into the closest room where a fire was constantly burning. He sat down uneasily, silently praying that Potter wouldn't be found, or be stupid enough to reveal himself.

Draco heard the two Aurors wandering about the manor, slamming doors and throwing things around as they always did. Bitsy always got distraught when they were here, because she would have to spend hours cleaning the mess they made in ten minutes' time. He didn't like the house-elf, but he felt sorry for her the days the Aurors visited.

After another ten minutes, Draco raised his eyes as the two men entered the den. They began searching through the desk, reading papers, and throwing books around.

"Honestly, after ten years, do you _really _have to make a mess?" Draco asked sardonically, standing up and walking to his bar. He poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and began to sip on it. "Did you find whatever you were looking for?"

"We'll be back next week for another check, and once a week until Mr. Potter tells us he no longer suspects you of anything," McDaniel said without the slightest bit of emotion.

"Potter, eh?" Draco smirked and sipped from his glass. "Do tell him I said hullo, will you?"

McDaniel sneered and the two Aurors left the room, and a moment later, the front door slammed behind them.

Letting out a long sigh, Draco pushed hair out of his eyes and began to walk toward the hallway. Just as he walked through the doorway, Potter appeared at the bottom of the stairs from under his cloak, looking cross. He stormed up to Draco and grabbed him by the front of his robes.

"Don't you _ever _lie to me, or insult me, again. Do you understand?" He shook Draco slightly, his fist tightening.

"I didn't lie to you, Potter," Draco said, trying to pry Harry's fist off of his front.

"You said they wouldn't be here until next week."

"They weren't supposed to. They said that you ordered them to search my house once a week. Or that was the gist of it." Draco pulled away and smoothed out his wrinkled robes.

Potter didn't say anything, just kept glaring.

"I'm sorry I told you anything about my life," he finally spat out, even angrier than he was a moment before. Draco showed no emotion outwardly, but wanted to wince and say something nice, or even just apologize.

"Well, I'm not sorry."

Harry's fists clenched at his sides, and Draco's eyes widened slightly.

"Bloody hell, Potter, I didn't mean -"

"FORGET IT MALFOY!" Harry bellowed, then stormed out of the room and bounded up the stairs without another look back.

Draco rubbed his eyes with his left hand and went back into the room and collapsed in the arm chair.

_I meant I'm not sorry you told me those things_, he thought bitterly, finishing off his glass of firewhiskey. He was really digging himself a deep grave.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Warnings:

This is, I guess now, considered an AU slash fic. It takes place post-war, and doesn't follow DH much at all. There will be some similarities, but there will be no Deathly Hallows.

Some characters in this story have been revived. I don't want to have emails saying "that's not canon, so and so is dead" or whatever. That's why it's now an AU fic.

This is a HP/DM slash. If you don't like it, don't read it )

It's been a very long time since I've written anything, so forgive me. No, I won't be updating my old stories. I've given up on those long ago, so don't ask.

Reviews are GREATLY appreciated!

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Harry was sitting at the desk in his room, with an open ink jar and a quill in his hand. A piece of parchment lay in front of him, untouched. He wanted to write to someone, to complain about how much of a git Malfoy was, but he couldn't think of a single person to write to. Ron's incoming mail was, no doubt, being checked by the Ministry, and he wouldn't be home in the middle of the day, so that was out of the question. He could write Hermione, but she would be at work herself. That left Lupin, though the two hadn't been getting along lately, which was mostly Harry's fault.

He had gotten Lupin a respectable job, though dangerous, tracking magical creatures throughout Britain, including werewolves and trolls. After Voldemort's fall, the Ministry began taking every measure possible to ensure the safety of their world and those who resided in it. There wasn't much to do for Lupin, other than tracking groups of creatures down and putting a tracker spell on them (which nobody but Lupin could remove). But it got stressful, and at times, dangerous. Centaurs, for one, disliked being tracked, but disliked the thought of another war even more. They'd lost a huge number of their groups in a war that was between humans - or should've been. Werewolves despised Lupin because he worked and bred with humans. Lupin had to point out to them, as if they'd forgotten, that they themselves were capable of living in the real world, breeding, marrying, etcetera. They could function wonderfully in society, and even make a huge impact on changeling rights in the entire world.

The stress of work, on top of his two children, Sicilia and Benjamin, and his life in general conflicted with Harry's attitude about his own life and work. Their paths crossed frequently, since Lupin's work also scared out some Death Eaters who were in hiding. Harry wondered vaguely if Lupin was having problems at home, as Sicilia would be heading to Hogwarts soon and Ben, who was five, was showing no signs of magic capability. Tonks was working for the Minister, though Harry wasn't too sure what it was exactly. She was gone a lot, though.

Harry dipped his quill in the ink jar and put the tip of the quill to the parchment. Just as he began writing, "Dear Remus," he heard someone walking up the stairs.

When the door opened, Harry didn't look to see who it was. Instead, he said bitterly, "go away, Malfoy. I'm done talking with you."

"It's me," Hermione said, shutting the door behind her. Harry looked up, dropping the quill, and stood to grab the stack of books that was in his friend's arms. "What happened between you and Malfoy?" Her tone was cautious.

"Nothing," Harry muttered, pulling the desk chair to his bed and sitting down in it. Hermione climbed up on the bed and crossed her legs. "What's all this?" He picked up the book on top that read _Magical Mishaps and How to Fix Them_.

"Just some things I've been shuffling through. I haven't had much time to look them all over, but they seem to be the right place to start." Hermione was speaking quickly, and her eyes were sparkling. She seemed unable to control herself.

"Why are you so ...?" Harry trailed off, raising his eyebrow at her. She hadn't been this excited in ages.

"I think I may know what's wrong with you," she said and threw a few books off the stack before opening a plain black book. "Now, do you remember Archie performing any spells on you? Do you remember the moment your magic was taken away?"

"No, I don't." Harry sighed, shaking his head. He tried to peer at the pages Hermione had opened to, but she pulled the book up, blocking his vision.

"Nothing? Harry, this is important. I need to know exactly what happened."

Harry was silent for a minute, thinking back to the day he'd left his house in search of Archie.

"I left home early in the morning. I don't know why I didn't contact anyone. I just didn't see the point. I think, deep down, I knew something would happen. Kind of like when I knew bad things would happen when we were in school," he sighed softly, thinking of when he was younger. "I went to Berlin, where my last correspondent had seen Archie, and began searching. I found a place outside of the city, which reminded me a bit of the Shrieking Shack - all run down and such. Muggles were around, and I couldn't march right up to the door of an abandoned looking house, nor could I pull out my wand. I saw someone pop their head out of the window from the upstairs, and, well, I woke up here."

"How did you feel emotionally right before you blacked out? When you left your house that morning and the day before that and such," Hermione asked, her voice trembling slightly. She seemed very excited.

"I don't know."

"Harry," Hermione said firmly, placing her hand ontop of his knee. "You are my best friend. I can tell when you're lying. This is extremely important. You want your magic back, right?"

"I don't know anymore."

Hermione sighed. She moved her hand to Harry's and held it tightly. She closed her book.

"I know things are hard for you, Harry. Things haven't been right for you, and you deserve to be happy."

"I'm happy," Harry said, his voice quiet.

"You aren't. I can see it in your eyes. They've been sad for a long time." Hermione raised her other hand and touched Harry's cheek softly. "I wake up every day and open the paper, praying that you aren't dead. I don't hear from you much anymore. Ron tells me how isolated you've become at work. It hurts me that my kids don't ever get to see their Godfather."

"There's a lot to do at work, Hermione. I'm sorry I haven't been keeping in touch. I just get so busy, and I'm so tired when I come home from work." Harry moved away from her touch. It was too painful. She was right to feel the way she did.

"Everyone loves you, Harry. The kids want to see you. They hear stories from Ron about, well, everything from when we were kids, and they get so excited and ask when you can come over for supper. I can't keep putting them off. Remus has been so worried, especially since you arrived here half dead." Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she looked away.

Harry stood up from his chair and clasped his hands behind his back. He began pacing, because he couldn't sit still and watch his friend cry over him.

"Fine. If you want to know, then I'll tell you," Harry said after a few moments of pacing. He didn't stop to look at her. "I come home from a twelve hour shift of paperwork and fighting against all kinds of wrong people, who don't give a shit if I defeated Voldemort to keep them alive. I sit down on my couch, and rather than do something productive, like go out with my friends, or, hell, read something, I turn on the radio and drink. Every single night. The more I drink, the more depressed I get. There have been a few scary times over the last ten years where I came this close (Harry held his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart) to actually doing to myself what Voldemort failed to do."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, but before she could say what was on her mind, Harry continued, pacing more.

"I don't have the courage to do it, of course. I go to bed every night, hoping I don't wake up, and if I do wake up, maybe some stupid bloke - like Archie - can finish me off themselves. I don't even know why I feel like this, Hermione. That's the worst part of all this. I've tried going out, having fun, and it just doesn't work out for me."

"I know you've seen a lot more than most of us have." Hermione stood up to give Harry a hug, but he backed away from her, shaking his head.

"I haven't see much more than you. That's what I don't understand! Why am I so tortured inside?" Tears filled Harry's eyes, and he turned from her before she could see him cry.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's waist, and he didn't move away. She put her head on his back and sighed. "It was hard for us to move on after the war. We all lost people we loved dearly. But, we just had to move on."

"I _have_ moved on. I've come to terms with the fact that Ginny is dead. Sirius, Dumbledore, everyone that I loved the most, all dead. Aside from you and Ron, of course."

Dizziness swept over Harry, and he closed his eyes. He waited a moment before he opened his eyes, and the world was still. He removed Hermione's arms from his waist, and started pacing again. The two remained in silence for what seemed eternity. Hermione standing beside the bed, her brown eyes glistening with tears, and Harry pacing back and forth, his green eyes glued to the floor.

"I'm lonely, Hermione," he said finally, not looking up at her. Another wave of dizziness, and now nausea, rolled over him. He ignored it, but slowed down his pacing. "I'm really lonely."

Harry walked straight to his bedroom door and opened it. He was starting to feel very hot, and the dizziness and nausea wasn't helping matters. He needed a glass of water.

Hermione said something behind him as he went out into the hallway and made his way toward the staircase.

"I just need a drink," He said to her, gripping the banister. He was thirsty and nauseas, much like the day before. He looked down the long staircase.

Harry stepped onto the top stair, and closed his eyes. The dizziness swept over him again, and he blacked out.

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Draco was in the drawing room, with a pencil in his hand, the tip pressed against a piece of parchment. He wanted to draw - something he did when he was in a foul mood - but once he sat down, he couldn't visualize anything. His mind was racing with all kinds of thoughts.

_It was stupid of me to say that to Potter._

And, _he's just overly sensitive and I did nothing wrong._

He made a stroke on the paper, the pencil barely touching, when he heard a few thumps and Granger scream for Draco. He stood up quickly, and ran to the door on the other side of the room. He threw it open and rushed into the hallway, and he saw Granger at the bottom of the stairs.

Then he saw Potter lying under her, apparently unconscious. She wasn't crying, really, just whimpering. Draco's stomach turned as he got closer.

"What happened?" He all but snarled at her, kneeling on the other side of Potter. He pressed his fingers to Harry's wrist and felt his pulse.

"We were talking, and he got really pale, and left the room to get something to drink. I followed him, and he passed out and started to fall down the stairs. I stopped him before it could do any more damage." She muttered, waving her wand over Harry's body. Draco silently cursed, but said nothing. He stood up.

"He's fine. Put him back in his room." Draco turned his back on her to go back to his drawing room.

"He's going to need something for his dizziness and pain from the fall. Do you have anything for that?" Granger's tone was full of bossiness and love for her friend. Draco sneered and turned again to face her.

"I've got none of that, Granger. I have no use for potion making anymore, and even if I did, I can't leave to get the ingredients without alerting the Ministry first."

Granger bit her lower lip and looked down at Harry. Draco watched her run her hand through his hair, and touch the side of his face, and he had to tear his eyes from the two of them before he felt something more than he wanted.

"Will you make some potions if I go to the Apothecary?" She finally asked, turning her eyes up and locking them with Draco's. Draco narrowed his eyes.

"I'm tired of helping him out, Granger. I'll make the potion for him, but when you get back, I expect you to begin making arrangements to put him somewhere else," Draco spat out and spun on his heel and stormed back into his drawing room, slamming the door behind him.

_Stupid, clumsy Potter. Falling down the bloody stairs. What the hell is wrong with him?_ Draco fumed, sitting down at his drawing desk and picking up the pencil again. He began drawing.

While he was drawing, his mind wandered, wondering if Potter was ok. Falling down stairs is bad news to begin with, but he'd blacked out before falling down. The blacking out and nausea had to be a side effect of the magic being taken away.

"Malfoy?" Granger's voice startled him from his thoughts, but he didn't turn around. He heard her cross the room. "I need to know what you need. And, er, could you watch him while I'm gone? He hit his head, and I would feel more comfortable leaving him here if he was being watched."

"Whatever, Granger," he snapped, then pulled a fresh piece of parchment from his desk and began writing down the ingredients he needed. He then fished in his pocket for his change purse, but Granger put her hand on top of his, stopping him.

"You've done enough for Harry." The tone of her voice wasn't kind, and Draco sensed a bit of sarcasm. He handed her the shopping list and turned his attention back to the desk as she stomped from the room.

_If it gets her out of my hair, and Harry Potter out later,_ he thought with a smirk, then looked down at the parchment he'd been drawing on.

It wasn't even halfway done, but Draco knew that it was the visualization of his memory of Potter being chained in Archie's hideout slash basement. He picked the parchment up and ripped it in half before crumbling it up and tossing it in the garbage next to the desk. Why he even drew that, he didn't know, but it disgusted him.

Draco left the room and walked up the stairs toward Potter's room. He was just going to make sure he was breathing, then go to his own bedroom for a nap, possibly. He peered into the room, and saw Potter lying atop his bed covers, slowly breathing. Without hesitation, Draco walked into the room and stood over Potter, studying his face. He was awfully thin, and looked much more pale than he had earlier in the day. Draco sat in the chair that was next to the bed, and studied Potter.

The next thing he knew, Draco was woken up by Granger. She looked down at him with an unreadable look. She held a bag of ingredients from the Apothecary.

"How long will it take you?" She asked sharply, dumping the bag onto his lap. Draco was slightly disoriented from the nap, and he tried to think quickly of what exactly he was making.

"About an hour," he replied, standing up. He felt embarrassed for falling asleep next to Potter, but he wasn't about to show Granger his emotion. Instead, he snapped at her, "what took you so long?"

"Aurors stopped me in Diagon Alley. Asked me if I've seen Harry," she replied and worried her lip, looking down at Harry's still unconscious body. "I don't know where he's going to go tonight."

"He'd be better off going to St. Mungo's where they can try and Heal him," Draco sneered.

"I know that, Malfoy!" She said, her voice raising a pitch as tears welled up in her eyes. Draco groaned; he was not about to comfort her. "But do you know what will happen if word gets out that Harry is no longer a Wizard? Do you know what kind of danger that puts him in! What kind of danger my kids, Ron and I would be in? Anybody who is friends with him would be at risk for attack because we helped defeat You-Know-Who!" Now her eyes were silently begging Draco, and he had to look away.

"I -" He cut himself off, and glanced at Granger, who was now covering her face, hiding tears. He sighed loudly. "Fine, if it will stop you from whining at me. I swear to you, Granger, you better have him fixed, or better preparations, tomorrow. The day after tomorrow at the very latest. Do you understand?"

Granger wiped tears from her eyes and beamed at him, and he hung his head. He was softening too much for these people. He really shouldn't have gone looking for Potter.

Before he started to walk from the room, Granger threw her arms around him. He froze, and didn't make any attempt to return the hug. It was quite disgusting, he had to admit, but a tiny part of him enjoyed the momentary contact. It had been a long time since he'd been hugged by anyone.

"Thank you for everything, Malfoy," she whispered in his ear before pulling away from him. He straightened his robes and nodded politely before picking up the bag of herbs and ingredients for the potions, and walking towards the door. Before he stepped into the hall, he turned his head and looked out of the corner of his eye at her.

"Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Did you and Weasley really reproduce?" He asked, not bothering to hide his smirk.

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy."

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Draco was back in the guest room an hour and a half later, with two cups of freshly brewed potions. He was slightly concerned when he saw that Potter hadn't woken up yet. Granger sat in the chair beside his bed, reading a book.

"Why isn't he up yet?" Draco asked, putting the cups on the desk and standing awkwardly behind Granger, keeping his eyes focussed on the back of her head.

"I don't know," she answered, lowering her book. "It worries me."

Draco said nothing.

"I think I know why his magic is gone," Granger said, turning to look at him briefly.

"Good, I'll be glad to get him from here."

Granger shook her head. "It isn't going to be easy. I don't know how long it will take. It wasn't Archie who took it away from him. At least, that's what I've gathered. I could be wrong still."

"Well?" Draco snapped, irritated with her him-hawing.

"He's burned himself out. There have been only a few reported cases of witches and wizards burning themselves out, but I think it's happened more than what's in the books. I mean, would you want people to know that you're no longer magical, after you spend your whole life around it?" She flipped through the book in her lap and landed on page that she'd written all over. Draco rolled his eyes. "This witch in case, Esmerald, burned herself out shortly after her husbands sudden death. It is suspected that either her emotions were so strong they overtook the magic in her body, or she had simply done too much."

"She was so depressed her magic just left?" Draco asked sarcastically, running his hand through his hair. "That sounds ridiculous, Granger."

"I agree that it does sound highly unlikely. It's the only case involving emotions that I've seen as far as burning yourself out. But," she looked over her shoulder at Draco again, who was still standing beside the desk. "I think that it's possible that both theories could have burned Harry out."

Again, Draco said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" She stood up and began pacing the room, her eyes going from Harry to Draco, then to the floor, then back to Harry. "He has been so depressed these last ten years. Look what he's doing to himself physically!" She stopped pacing long enough to look at Harry with sad eyes. She didn't seem to be talking to Draco anymore. He remained silent, wanting to hear what she had to say, but at the same time, not wanting to get involved anymore than he was. "His malnutrition on top of strong depression, anxiety, anger, generally bad feelings could cause his magic to lose it's strength. His Auror work is constant. He works twelve hour days and works with magic constantly. It's entirely possible that his magic was already harder for him to touch because he's been so ill, but when he went to confront Archie, he must have overdone himself!"

"You really believe that?" Draco shook his head. It seemed logical, but at the same time, this was Potter she was talking about.

"I do. I just don't know if he can do anything to bring it back," she sighed and plopped back down in the chair. "I've tried getting in touch with his magic. It's almost entirely gone. I can still feel some of it, but not much. I need to keep reading to find out if there's a way to reverse it."

Suddenly, she stood up with her book and walked to the desk. She dropped the book onto a pile of other books, then picked them all up.

"I have to go for the night. If Harry isn't awake by morning, we'll have to forget all of this and take him to St. Mungo's. Thank you for the potions. If he does wake up, make sure you give them to him immediately."

She didn't even wait for a response before she left the room. Draco followed her out, to make sure she left, then locked the door behind her. He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. It was starting to get dark out. It had been a long day.

He made his way back up the stairs, and lingered in the doorway of the guest room, debating whether he should stay to make sure he didn't die during the night. Draco sighed and turned the chair into an overstuffed armchair and ottoman, and sat down.

_He must have overdone himself_, he thought, watching Harry's chest rise and fall steadily.

Minutes later, Draco was fast asleep.

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Thank you for the reviews, and the helpful criticism I received. It's been going on five years since I've written anything HP, and I'm a bit rusty ) I re-read and added onto this chapter after I finished it yesterday, so hopefully it's grammatically correct.


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